Egypt

docks. After the previous night’s conversation, my thoughts were as dark as the day was glorious. I felt sure there was a connection between the Army of Chaos and the gang in Thebes. And yet how could a band of itinerant barbarians, who operated in the wastelands of the Levant, have any power or presence in such a faraway city? And if so, how was Aziru part of the mystery? Paser, however, seemed determined not to talk about such matters. Instead, he wanted to discuss wine.

‘There are three essential elements in wine-the power of the sun, the availability of good water, and the flavours of the earth-all of which combine magically within the grape itself. The properties unique to each vineyard will be intangibly present in the final character of the wine, together with the infinite varieties of time, weather, and so forth. Here in Ugarit we have gentle rains, and morning mists, to irrigate the vines. Some say the dews are the secret of the wine’s flavour. Others say it is something to do with the evening shadows that are mysteriously gathered into the black of the grapes. But I say it is the soil itself; it is rich but light, with astonishing dry tones of minerals from the rocks and the underground waters. And the result? Wines that are romantic, with a voluptuous perfume, an indefinable sweetness, and a depth so strong and true…’ He stopped suddenly in the street, threw open his arms and declaimed: ‘“Day long they pour the wine! Wine fit for kings! Wine sweet and abundant!”’

He smiled apologetically. ‘Lines from an old poem! Forgive me, I sound like a fool when I discuss wine…’

‘There’s no finer subject,’ I replied.

‘Except love, of course. Which is almost the same thing. But wine is better, because you can bottle it!’

He laughed again, and put his arm through mine, and we walked on.

‘Nakht is a great man, with a formidable intellect, but I can see he appreciates wine without really loving it. In fact, it has just come to me: he is like a lover whose hands are tied behind his back. He can see, but not touch. But I saw your face. You looked as if you were in a state of rapture! And that is the sign of a true devotee…’ he said.

‘It was among the finest wines I have ever had the fortune to taste. But you, as a merchant, must have tasted some legendary ones…’ I replied.

‘Yes, indeed. The Star of Horus on the Height of the Heaven must surely rank as the greatest, and the most ancient of our home-grown vintages.’

I had heard of it, but the cost of a jar was legendarily exorbitant. Only kings and nobles could afford such rarities.

‘And perhaps you have tried a Chassut Red?’ I asked.

He smiled and clapped his hands.

‘Only once! They say the Chassuts are not ready to drink until they have aged a hundred years. And I can personally confirm that opinion. It is worth the wait!’

I was about to ask more, but the grand street, lined with shady shops where merchants invited passers-by to examine their wares, suddenly opened up to reveal a vast panorama: the harbour and market of Ugarit. Uncountable numbers of ships were moored at the long lines of the timber wharves; others negotiated their passage in and out of the densely crowded waters. Hundreds of sails fluttered and unfurled in the breeze. The harbour waters, tamed by the stone arms of the sea walls, glittered and shimmered in the clear morning light. Directly in front of us the great market spread out, occupying all of the vast open space before the docks.

‘It’s quite a sight, eh?’ said Paser, once more taking my arm, and leading me down into the chaos of the market. Thousands of stalls were set up under shades, and customers, browsers, merchants, and mules and porters carrying goods, all struggled together, shouting insults, imprecations, advice and unbeatable offers. We passed stalls selling beer, and others selling oils, grapes and figs, and then magnificent silverwork.

‘Ashkelon silver. Very fine work,’ said Paser, pointing. ‘You should buy something to take home for your wife!’

Instantly the silver merchant came forward, bowing and smiling, greeting Paser, and engaging him in conversation. But I shook my head, not having the funds or the heart for such a transaction. With a casual wave of his imperious hand, Paser passed on, and the merchant sank back into the shadows, his smile immediately vanishing at the lost sale.

‘Here is the precious stones market. Lapis lazuli, gold, amethyst, jasper, turquoise? Yours for the taking, and much cheaper here than at home in Egypt. Finger-rings, earrings, bracelets wrought by the finest Minoan craftsmen, for your daughters, perhaps? Over there, to the left, is the olive oil and wine-see, they are unloading a fresh consignment from Crete. They have the most beautiful vessels! Over there, the perfumes, and beyond the wools and linens, mostly from Egypt, of course, highly expensive, and very much in demand among the new class of affluent families…’

I shaded my eyes. Further away, closer to the waterfront, I noticed long, low depots teeming with men and carts.

‘And those?’

‘Those are storage for the consignments of raw materials-tin, copper, cedar, lead and bronze. Those merchants have standing orders from all across the world, from royal and noble families. The caravans have long been contracted, and they will soon begin their long journeys to their far destinations.’

He gazed with worldly satisfaction at the panorama of the emporium before us, then nodded ahead, as we approached a corral of horses, steaming in the heat of the sun. Merchants in long woollen cloaks were carefully scrutinizing the fine, dignified, nervous animals.

Paser leaned into me and said, ‘Those are Hittite merchants. They buy all the best horses for their infantry.’

‘Do Hittite and Egyptian merchants trade together? Despite the wars?’ I asked.

‘My dear friend, the world is really one vast marketplace. No one cares where a man is from as long as he has gold in his pocket, or something you want. And the remarkable thing is this: the wars have only encouraged demand, trade has actually boomed in these difficult years. The ships are full, everyone is happy. War and politics are irrelevant, unless the great flow of trade is disturbed.’

‘And what are the ships full of?’ I asked.

‘Everything this world has to offer. Silver and copper, glass and bronze, lapis lazuli and gold, oils, perfumes, animal skins, live animals, potions, dyes, cedar, slaves, women, children…’ he said, listing them casually.

‘And opium?’

‘Why do you ask?’ he said cautiously.

‘Curiosity,’ I replied.

But Paser was not satisfied with this answer. He pulled me suddenly aside.

‘I like you, Rahotep, so I will be open with you. Nakht has already told me about your private loss. I was sorry to hear of it.’

‘I appreciate your words. I lost a great friend. His name was Khety. He was a fine Medjay officer investigating a new opium gang. Until he was brutally murdered,’ I said. Even saying those few words stirred the blackness in my blood again.

Paser nodded sympathetically.

‘We live in a dark time. But I must tell you Nakht has instructed me not, under any circumstances, to discuss any matters connected to this with you.’

I took out the papyrus with the black star from my leather satchel, and showed it to Paser.

‘Does this mean anything?’ I asked.

He gazed at it in astonishment.

‘Where did you get it?’ he asked.

‘From inside the mouth of my murdered friend,’ I replied. ‘It was left as a sign by his executioner after he cut off his head. I see you recognize it.’

Paser nodded slowly.

‘It is the sign of the Army of Chaos,’ he replied.

At last. Paser had confirmed what I had suspected. There was a connection between the Theban gang and the merciless brutes of the Army of Chaos.

‘How could the Army of Chaos have any connection with a high-level opium gang in Thebes?’ I asked, my mouth dry.

Paser patted his now-sweating brow with an embroidered cloth.

‘I see what sort of man you are, Rahotep. You are honourable. That is a rare virtue in this corrupt and terrible